


Coney Island Dreaming

by dancingloki



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingloki/pseuds/dancingloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little pre-war, pre-serum slice of life, smooching in a photo booth on the Coney Island boardwalk one summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coney Island Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/54700) by One Archives Foundation. 



> For reference, this fic is set in the summer of 1937, shortly after the death of Steve's mother. Steve and Bucky are 19.

“Shut up,” Steve said weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Bucky was very obviously not making much of an effort to control his laughter. “Aw, c’mon, Stevie, don’t you want to go again?”

“I _hate_ you.” Steve spat the last bit of vomit into the trash can he’d been retching into. The Coney Island Cyclone glinted above them, deceptively pretty in the late afternoon sun. The boardwalk was filled with people; almost every weekend that summer had been rainy and cold, so all of New York seemed to be out enjoying the fine weather.

Bucky slung his arm carelessly over Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close. “You’ll get over it.”

“I’m gonna get you back for this someday,” Steve informed him, leaning into his side, grimacing at the lingering taste of bile in his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky was still grinning as they wandered down the boardwalk, Steve still rubbing resentfully at his mouth.

“I wanna wash this taste out of my mouth,” Steve grumped, pushing his hair to the side on his forehead fretfully. “Where’s the water fountain?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re such a big baby.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his eyes as Steve rinsed and spat, glaring at him. “Oh, quit sulking. C’mon, I’ll buy you a hot dog.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Bucky sighed. “That’s why you’re so damn skinny, y’know, you don’t eat enough.”

“I eat plenty,” Steve muttered.

“Do you?” Bucky stopped short, turning Steve with one broad hand on his shoulder until they were face to face. “ ‘Cause you’re not proving anything with this. Things are tight everywhere, you know that, and with you on your own… Why don’t you just come over to our place, even just a couple nights a week? You know my ma’s a hell of a cook.”

“I’m doing fine,” Steve said, voice strained. “My illustrations bring in a little, and Mr. Rosenthal at the corner store pays me to do inventory for him when he can spare it. I’m okay.”

“And is that going to be enough to cover the rent? Decent meals? The cigarettes for your asthma?” Bucky snapped. “If you would just let me—”

Steve cut him off. “Let it go, Buck. I can stand on my own two feet.” He set his jaw, staring up into Bucky’s face, meeting his eyes squarely.

Bucky huffed through his nose, jaw working as he searched Steve’s stubborn face for something. Finding it, he sighed heavily, frustration ebbing out of his body. He wrapped his arm back around Steve’s neck, and they continued down the boardwalk.

“If I ate anything right now I’d just throw it up, anyway,” Steve teased, trying to lighten the mood. Bucky snorted, the grin returning to his face.

“Probably. Hey, wanna ride the Tornado?”

“I’m going to smother you in your sleep one of these days,” Steve shot back, trying to hide a smile.

“I’ll give you the chance tonight, if you ask me nicely,” Bucky said, smirking. Steve choked on air.

“Knock it off, Buck, there’s people around,” he hissed.

“Oh, relax, nobody’s listening. Ladies.” Bucky leered at a couple of passing girls, who giggled and clutched each other.

“You shouldn’t joke around about that stuff in public,” Steve said in a low voice when the girls were out of earshot. “What if somebody heard you?”

“Nobody heard,” Bucky said carelessly. “Besides, I was only half-joking.”

“ _Bucky!_ ”

“All right, keep your shorts on. Hey, check it out!”

Steve followed Bucky’s finger to see a photo booth, tucked up against the wall. Strangely for such a popular attraction, the booth was abandoned, without the usual line in front of the brightly-colored curtain.

Bucky was groping at his pockets. “I’m sure I’ve got a quarter here somewhere—wanna take a photo?” Without waiting for an answer, he towed Steve across the wooden boardwalk and into the photo booth enclosure.

The curtain fell closed behind them with a soft rustle of fabric, giving a confidential, close feeling to the tiny room. The air was still and stifling in the August heat, and Steve was keenly aware of Bucky’s closeness, pressed up against his side on the wooden bench.

Bucky fumbled with the coin slot, finally pushing the quarter through. The booth’s machinery clicked to life, and he and Steve plastered on matching grins, facing the camera. The bulb flashed, bright white light filling the space. Steve rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them.

Bucky was laughing. “I think I blinked. Hey, c’mere!” He slung his arm back over Steve’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

“Bucky!” Steve laughed, startled, and the bulb flashed again.

“Make a face, make a face,” Bucky urged, and Steve pulled the most gruesome one he could think of, poking his tongue out of his mouth and trying to bug his eyes out. He could hear Bucky snickering next to him as the flash went off.

Steve was still chuckling to himself as Bucky pulled away. “What should we do for the last—,” he started to say, but the last word was swallowed up in Bucky’s warm mouth, pressed against his own.

He was dimly aware of the bulb flashing for the last time as Bucky’s hand cupped his jaw, thumb stroking gently over his cheek. Bucky’s palm slid over the side of his face to nestle at the back of his head, fingers threading into Steve’s hair as his other arm wound around Steve’s waist, pulling him close against his chest.

Bucky kissed him, kissed him, _kissed_ him, holding him so gently, pressing sweetly into Steve’s soft lips. He pulled back with a sigh until their lips were barely touching, pressing his forehead against Steve’s, eyes closed. He felt Steve’s eyelashes—always so long and delicate—flutter against his cheek, felt warm breath on his neck. The soft, wispy strands of Steve’s hair tickled the skin of his fingers, cradling the back of Steve’s skull.

A loud buzzer sounding broke the spell. Steve pulled away, blushing, suddenly bashful. The machine whirred, spitting out a strip of paper smelling strongly of the developing chemicals.

Steve pulled the photographs from the tray, handling them gingerly by their edges. Bucky had, indeed, blinked in the first snapshot. Steve looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his awkward smile frozen in place.

The second photo was more natural. Neither of them was looking at the camera, but Bucky’s arm was tight around his shoulders. The photo had captured them both mid-laugh, Bucky’s crooked grin spread wide across his face, Steve leaning into his chest.

He couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the third photo. Bucky had managed to contort his face into some kind of grotesque, crooked sneer. Steve wasn’t much prettier; he looked like a clownish Jack-in-the-box.

Almost against his will, his gaze traveled downward, irresistibly pulled to the black-and-white sepia stains of the last shot. There was the strong curve of Bucky’s jaw, lines Steve knew better than he knew his own face. His thumb traced over Bucky’s slicked-back hair, skimming the surface of the paper.

Most of Steve’s face was obscured, behind Bucky’s hand or behind his head pressing eagerly into the kiss, but he could see his own eyes, squinted shut in surprise and pleasure. Automatically, he cuddled into Bucky’s side; Bucky’s arm came back up, circling his shoulders, holding him close.

Bucky nuzzled Steve’s hair, dropping a soft kiss onto his cheek.

“ ‘M keeping this one, okay?” he murmured against Steve’s temple, finger brushing over Steve’s where it touched the last picture.

Steve nodded, tucking himself into Bucky’s chest. He was stretching up for another kiss when a giggling commotion outside interrupted. They sprang apart as the curtain was abruptly pulled aside, blinking in the sudden light.

“Oh, sorry!” a woman’s voice chirped. “We didn’t know anyone was in here.”

“No problem,” Bucky smirked, his charm back in place. The strip of photographs had instantly vanished into one of his coat pockets the minute the curtain had moved. “We’re already done. I don’t suppose you ladies would care to join my friend here and me for a spell?” He slung his arm roughly over Steve’s shoulders in a chummy display of masculine affection, winking suggestively at the young women.

“No thanks,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes as her friends shrieked with laughter behind her.

“Our loss,” he said carelessly, towing Steve out of the booth and sweeping his arm out in a mock bow. “You girls enjoy yourselves.” The three women piled into the booth behind them as they strolled away, looking for all the world like nothing else than two friends out enjoying the summer sun.

“It sure is a nice day,” Steve said.

“Sure is,” Bucky agreed carelessly, sticking his free hand in his pocket.

“I was thinking I might take you up on your offer,” Steve said, keeping his voice neutral.

Bucky grinned ear to ear. “Now you’re talking sense, you little punk. Ma’s making her famous meatloaf tonight, it’ll be great.”

“I meant your other offer,” Steve said.

Bucky choked on air.

“It’ll be fun,” Steve continued. “We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids. Well, not _exactly_ like that.”

Bucky, still spluttering, managed to catch his breath. “Steve, if you’re monkeyshining me, I—”

“Come to think of it, maybe _you’d_ better stay over at _my_ place,” Steve interrupted him, musing in a thoughtful tone. “Your mom’s a pretty light sleeper, isn’t she?”

This time, the choking noise Bucky made drew stares from across the boardwalk.

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to the inspired-by tumblr post, I had a little reference on vintage Coney Island here: http://web.bryant.edu/~ehu/h364proj/sprg_98/alimonti/twenty.htm


End file.
